


Bend and Break

by ephemerall



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 15:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3614613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemerall/pseuds/ephemerall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jet doesn’t take anything he is openly denied, but Zuko never really gives express permission.  Their relationship is give and take -- Zuko gives, and Jet takes.  Somewhere, there used to be a friendship, but everything is muddled and tangled up now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bend and Break

**Author's Note:**

> Jet/Zuko is dubious consent at best, the primary pairing here is Zuko/Katara. This work is not finished and I'm not sure where to go with it. I'm willing to take ideas in the comments, or if someone seriously wants to proof-read/be my sounding board, you're welcome to leave me something letting me know.

         Katara’s room is almost the same as it was when they were kids. The walls were the same soft blue they had always been, despite kindergarten insistence that blue was for boys, and the vanity still had their pictures stuck to it from middle school until now. She traded her stuffed ponies and Strawberry Shortcake bed sheets for swimming trophies and a cream colored comforter and dark navy sheets. They had grown up long before the change in decor -- tragedy and circumstance had seen to that -- but now things were changing again.

         Her fingers were sure and soft on his skin; he closed his eyes when she traced the ridges of his scar, fisted his hands in the loose material of her shirt when she pressed her lips to the edge of the puckered skin. His body temperature went up and his heart sped in his chest when she kissed his ear, pressed her lips to his jaw, his neck, and opened her mouth to taste his skin. He woke up every day waiting for this -- wanting her, needing her, touching her. He watched her as she sat back to pull her shirt over her head and then waited for him to do the same. They dropped them over the side of the bed onto the carpeted floor. Her soft, private smile just for him made him feel like his skin was too small to hold him. He was so in love with her he didn’t know he could ever make her understand, but the way she looked at him, her softness with him, told him that maybe she felt the same. They never said it -- but he hoped it wasn’t something he felt alone.

         She kissed his mouth softly and then stood to strip off her jeans. He swallowed hard. This part proved to be difficult at times. She was beautiful, and he was attracted to her, but his experiences weren't the best and she usually had to work hard to keep him from flagging in the middle of their performance.

         “What if your dad comes home?” He asks her, voice slightly hoarse from arousal.

         “He won’t,” she said, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. This wasn’t the first, or even the third time he’d seen her this way, but it was like starting all over every time she let him see her naked. “He left early this morning for a meeting in Boston, Gran-Gran has her Bridge game until 7, and Sokka is at cross country practice until 6. We have at least 2, 2 and a half hours before anyone comes home.” He nodded and stood, hands shaking a little, and stripped off his jeans. Katara’s soft eyes made something unnamable swell in his chest, but the sadness that filled in and the slight downturn of her mouth made him look away. She touched the purple-green bruises one by one, starting with those she could see first, the ones on his hips. She kissed his shoulder, fingers gentle against his skin, and moved around him. When she touched the bruising at the small of his back he winced; the counter’s edge had been unforgiving and painful. He hadn’t really realized how hard he’d been slammed into it. When she came around the front of him again, she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him softly.

         He put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer, needing to feel her against him. He needed her to remind him that this could be good. More than that, he needed to be sure she was really here -- every time he needed to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming it all, that she didn’t finally come to her senses and realize she was too good for him and his horrible baggage.

         “I hate that you’ve been hurt,” she says softly, pulling him on top of her as she gets on the bed. “Don’t let him come back.” He breathes harshly through his nose and swallows hard. If it were that easy, he would have done so two years ago.

         “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his mouth hovering just above hers. He doesn’t understand, knowing what she knows, how she could want him at all let alone repeatedly. Whatever he has -- that _thing_ \-- with Jet, it’s too rough and painful, and he still can’t stop it. He doesn’t know how.

         She kisses him instead of saying anything more, pushing his boxers down off of his hips. He kicks them off the end of the bed and helps her pull down her panties and toss them aside. She’s soft and warm, slick as he slides his fingers between her legs. She opens her mouth and closes her eyes, spreading her legs wider around his hips, and then bites her lip. She shivers. He moves his fingers slowly and deliberately, making her back arch, her nails digging into his shoulders. She kisses his neck, bites softly, and his breath huffs out of him when she reaches between them and wraps her hand around him. He was more than halfway there, and her touch has him fully aroused in moments.

         “Zuko,” she breathes. “I want to try... I don’t just want your fingers, or your mouth.”

         “Katara, I -”

         She cuts him off. “We don’t have to, I understand but... I want to try. I want...” her cheeks color. “I want to know what it’s like to have you inside of me.” He surges forward and kisses her desperately.

         “Do you have condoms?” He asks quietly.

         “I’m on birth control,” she replies, but he shakes his head.

         “No,” he says. The look on her face has him quickly clarifying. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Katara. That’s not it at all. I just... “ he looked away from her eyes. Jet never uses condoms, even when he’s specifically asked to, and he cares too much about Katara to risk anything.

         “Zuko, you don’t have any diseases,” she says. “You’ve been to the doctor, and I’ve gone to the clinic with you before!” He withdraws a little. “No, don’t -- Don’t shut me out.”

         “I can’t,” he says hoarsely. It’s what he doesn’t say that hurts -- hurts because he really believes it, and hurts because even without hearing it she knows what he thinks and hates that he thinks it. He doesn’t want to dirty her – her advanced psych classes are both useful and painful. She pulls him close and kisses him, reaching between them again to take him in hand; his arousal had faded considerably. He pushes her hand away and scoots down, pushing her legs up and settling his shoulders between her thighs. She gasps out loud and fists her fingers in his hair when his tongue touches her sex. He loves the taste of her. She always tastes a little tangy, a little sweet, always clean. He presses his tongue to her clit and she arches her back, whispering his name. He works his mouth on her, licking and sucking at her clit until she’s shaking, until she cries out and clamps her thighs around his head, fingers too tight in his hair. When he looks up at her and wipes his mouth, her chest is heaving. She rolls slightly to the side and pulls the drawer open next to her bed. His mouth feels dry when she pulls out a condom.

         “Katara, I don’t know if --”

         “I do,” she says. “I want you. Zuko, I --” he wanted her to say it, he wanted her to say it so badly it made his insides twist up. But she didn’t -- they never did. “I want you to feel good. I just want to make you feel good, too.” He chewed the inside of his lip, realizing that for the first time, he was still hard -- very, very hard and the thought of being inside of Katara made his stomach clench. He nodded once.

         She tore open the packaging and set it on the bedside table. She sat up, eyes locked with his, and he gasped when she slowly rolled the condom on. She pulled him down with her, letting him settle between her legs. He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.

         “It’s ok,” she said. “This is ok, Zuko. I _want_ this, want _you_.” She kissed him deeply, settling her legs around his hips, and he shifted forward. She reached down and guided him to her entrance. He trembled as he sunk in slowly, breathing hard. Her mouth was soft and insistent against his, lips moving gently, tongue pushing and pulling with his. He drew back and pushed in again, and a strangled sound of pleasure came out of his mouth. “You won’t hurt me,” she whispered against his mouth. “Come on, Zuko.”

         His body seemed to know what to do. His hips moved with hers, his body burning up with pleasure. Sweat beaded at his temples and the nape of his neck, his arms trembled from holding his upper body above hers and his legs burned. Her face was all pleasure, his name falling softly, sweetly from her mouth over and over. She hitched her legs up around his waist, crossing her ankles behind his back and encouraging him to move faster. He felt like he was spiraling out of control -- minutes or hours or days had gone by, he’d lost all sense of time being in her. He felt his orgasm start at the base of his spine, flushing his body red-pink, making is heart pound so hard he thought it would explode.

         “Katara...” He gasped, body strung tight as a bowstring. She pulled his mouth to hers and he was lost -- he shook, gasped, and cried out her name, body taken over by blinding white pleasure as he slammed into her a few more times and stilled seated deep in her body.

         “I love you,” she whispered. It broke their unspoken rules. They weren’t supposed to say it no matter how much they felt it; it would make things hard, it would make them real and breakable.

         “I love you,” he whispered back. He couldn’t stop himself from saying it if he tried. The difference is he knows she means it -- Jet only said it when he thought Zuko was letting go for good; Jet only said it when it served his purpose. Zuko didn’t know if Jet ever meant it, but he knows Katara does.

 

         Zuko thought, maybe, this time he was finally free. And then Jet shows up on his doorstep and pushes his way in. He tastes like cigarettes when he slams his lips into Zuko’s, when he pushed shim back against the couch. “Missed you,” Jet mumbles, biting Zuko’s neck too hard to be pleasurable. He doesn’t notice Zuko’s wince -- he never does. Jet doesn’t take anything he is openly denied, but Zuko never really gives express permission. Their relationship is give and take -- Zuko gives, and Jet takes. Somewhere, there used to be a friendship, but everything is muddled and tangled up now.

         Zuko isn’t sure how they got up to his room, just that they were on his bed, half-dressed. Jet pulls the drawer open clumsily and grabs the mostly empty bottle of lube. There wasn’t enough left. Jet pulls Zuko’s pants from around his knees, yanking them down and off, throwing them across the room. He rubbed cold fingers in the cleft of Zuko’s ass and Zuko felt his stomach clench -- not the warm anticipation he felt with Katara. This is cold and heavy, something too close to dread, and Zuko realizes he’s hardly even aroused.

         He tenses when the blunt head of Jet’s cock is suddenly pushing in. There hasn’t been enough prep, there isn’t enough lubrication. He put his hands on Jet’s shoulders, pushing. “Jet --” He starts and grunts in displeasure.

         “Shh,” Jet says. “Don’t tell me you don’t want me to.”

         Zuko doesn’t -- he hears himself say it in his head, but the words never reach his mouth. And Jet pushes in. Jet breathes out his pleasure while Zuko gasps in anything but. Jet sets up a slower rhythm, and Zuko hates -- _hates_ himself when Jet brushes his prostate and his dick twitches to life. He doesn’t want this to feel good -- he doesn't want to like this. He _doesn’t_ like it and he hates that his body is betraying him like this. Jet angles his hips and hits it every time, until Zuko is flushed and panting, cock standing hard against his own belly. He feels sick. Jet wraps a hand around him, pumps hard and fast, almost painfully, keeping their hips angled to hit Zuko’s prostate on every thrust. Zuko feels the shame fill his chest when he feels his body contract, clenching his jaw so hard he thinks he might shatter his teeth when his orgasm hits. He turns his head to the side, Jet’s lips landing on his neck instead of his mouth, pounding in hard until he stills spilling into Zuko’s body without asking permission.

         Jet pulls out without any grace or tenderness. He smiles at Zuko and tells him he was great. Zuko sits with his knees up to his chest, head turned away. “Hey,” Jet says. “What’s the matter with you?”

         Zuko swallows hard. He’s 17 years old; too old for tears. Zuko doesn’t answer, acts like he doesn’t hear anything at all. He gets up, his back to Jet and shakily pulls on his pants.  

         “What’s your problem?” Jet asks. Zuko hears him move, but doesn’t realize it’s closer instead of away. Jet’s hand on him makes his skin crawl. He lashes out; spinning around, he shoves Jet so hard in the chest it throws him backward. He trips over the edge of the bed, nearly falling on the floor. “What the fuck?! What the hell is your problem?”

         “Don’t touch me!” Zuko screams at him. He’s breathing hard, suddenly so angry he can’t even see straight. He realizes how much he _hates_ Jet: As much as he hates himself, maybe even a little more.

         “Zuko,” he says, voice placating and patronizing. “Don’t be like that.” He steps closer. “Baby, we can work this out, like we always do.” He steps into Zuko’s personal space and the rage Zuko feels is blinding. He lashes out. His hand hurts, and his wrist, as he connects his fist as hard as he can with Jet’s face. Jet has the decency to look surprised.

         “Don’t come near me,” Zuko says, voice breaking. “Don’t... don’t touch me. Ever again.”

         “Zuko --”

         “Get out,” Zuko says, voice cracking again. He’s shaking.

         Zuko startles when the bedroom door opens. His uncle looks solemn, angry even, which is a rarity. He holds his uncle’s gaze for a few moments and then looks away. If his uncle has come to intervene then Zuko can’t pretend that his uncle has been unaware of what has been going on between him and Jet. Zuko chokes back a sob. He will not be weak -- not now, not in front of Jet.

         “Nephew, is everything alright?” The question is directed at Zuko but Iroh is staring down Jet. “I heard yelling.”

         “I’m fine,” Zuko says hoarsely. “Jet was just leaving.”

         “Zuko -” Jet starts and Iroh takes another step into the room, effectively shutting him up. The look on his uncle’s face is a little frightening and Zuko’s grateful.

         “I think it’s best you leave now,” Iroh says to Jet. For once, Jet is smart enough to keep quiet. “Perhaps, it would be in everyone’s best interest if you did not come back.” Zuko can hear the thinly veiled threat for what it is, and judging by Jet’s angry scowl, he understands perfectly, too.

         Zuko turns to face the wall, his back to his uncle and Jet. He hears Jet move angrily across the floor, and then the sound of his boots on the stairs, and finally the harsh slam of the front door. He waits for his uncle to leave, but he doesn’t.

         “Zuko, are you ok?” He asks sincerely. Zuko doesn’t trust himself to speak so he nods instead, turning back toward his uncle and staring at the floor. He can’t look his uncle in the face. “If you need to talk... if you need anything...” the offer hangs in the air and Zuko nods again. Iroh leaves quietly.

         He breathes deeply for a few minutes, trying to calm himself down. He isn’t sure if his uncle is still in the hallway or not, but suddenly it doesn’t matter -- he finds himself running for the bathroom, flinging his door open and slamming the bathroom door shut. He barely hits his knees and lifts the toilet seat before he vomits violently. He chokes and heaves, emptying his stomach of everything, until he’s gagging up nothing but yellow bile. The soft knock on the door isn’t a surprise.

         “Zuko,” his uncle says gently. “Are you sure you’re alright? Is there something --?”

         “I’m fine,” he calls, voice wrecked from hurling up his insides. “I’m fine, Uncle,” he says more steadily. “Thank you.”

 

         His uncle doesn’t argue when he stays home from school the next day. It’s senior year, he has mostly study halls all day; it’s not a big deal. He sleeps fitfully. He hears his phone chime and ignores it for a few minutes before he finally grabs it. It’s Katara.

                   _Hey, are you coming to school today?_

He stares at the screen for a moment before responding. _No. Don’t feel good._

_Are you ok?_

_I’m fine_.

                   _Zuko, what’s wrong?_

_Nothing. I’m fine._

_No, you’re not. I know you. What’s going on?_

_I’ll talk to you later. I’m really tired, Katara._

He puts the phone back on his nightstand and pulls his blankets up. He closes his eyes and forces himself to sleep. It’s not restful at all. He doesn’t go to school for two days and won’t answer his phone.

 

         When he comes downstairs his hair is a mess, sticking up in weird places. He tries to smooth it down with his hands and heads toward the kitchen. He hopes his uncle can make him some tea to settle his stomach. He stops in the doorway, his uncle and Katara staring up at him. Her face softens.

         “Hey,” she says quietly. “I just wanted to see how you were feeling. I didn’t want to wake you so... I’m having some tea with Iroh. I hope that’s alright.”

         “Yeah,” he says quietly. “That’s fine.”

         “Are you hungry?” His uncle asks, and he immediately shakes his head. “Zuko, you haven’t eaten in two days.”

         “I can’t,” he says, looking away from his uncle and Katara. “Do you have some tea for my stomach?”

         “I’ll run to the store and get some ginger. You stay here and visit with Miss Katara.”

         He doesn’t protest, just stands there quietly while his uncle leaves them. When he looks at her the concern in her eyes makes his stomach clench unpleasantly. The last thing he wants to do is talk about... any of it. “Zuko.” Her voice is soft but it still startles him. He backs up a step.

         “Don’t,” he says softly. “Please, Katara, I am begging you -- “

         “This is not ok,” she interrupts. “ _You_ are not ok.”

It’s not ok that he has 26 text messages from Jet; it’s not ok that he has 30 missed calls. It’s not ok that he feels like he’s done something wrong. That doesn’t mean he wants to talk about any of it. He just wants to forget about it -- every little bit of it. He wishes he could go back and recognize when Jet started to change -- when he went from Zuko’s best friend to... this.

         “What Jet did --”

         “You don’t know anything about it, Katara,” Zuko blurts out. “You don’t know what he’s been through. It’s not his fault.”

         “How can you stand there and defend him?” she asks incredulously. “Did you forget that I got to see you after every time he came and went? _I_ got to see your bruises. _I_ had to watch you shut down and shut everyone out! Don’t tell me I _don’t know anything about it_! It doesn’t matter what the reason is, Zuko! Abuse is abuse!”

         “Stop!” Zuko shouts, though he doesn’t mean to. He is barely resisting the urge to cover his ears with his hands and close his eyes, like a child. She watches him and speaks quietly.

         “I get that Jet was there for you after your accident,” she says and he feels the rage welling up inside his chest. He can’t help the mirthless laugh that comes out of his mouth. The look on her face is startled.

         “My accident,” he says sarcastically. He swallows against the bile rising in his throat. “My _accident_ was a fucking _lie_. There was no accident, Katara. Do you think at 14 years old I was too stupid to know how to work a grill? Do you really think that I left the lid closed and when I opened it, it exploded in my face?”

         “What are you saying?”

         “It wasn’t an accident! I was disobedient; I shamed my father in front of his political supporters! I was taught a _lesson_! There was nothing accidental about it!” He was breathing so hard he thought he might actually pass out. “Jet was the _only_ one who knew -- he was the _only_ one there when I lied to the police because I was willing to do anything to get my own father to _love_ me! He was the only one who understood!”

         “Zuko, I --”

         “You don’t _understand_! He was there, when we were kids, the only one who stayed with me when my father beat the shit out of me, Katara -- almost every day! He didn’t run and tell, and try to rip my family apart! He was there for me!”

         Her eyes were full of tears, and he felt so awful watching them slide down her cheeks. He hadn’t wanted her to know any of this -- he’d worked so hard to keep this from everyone, and just because he got upset and felt the need to defend a friend who had turned into something... else. He was standing here upsetting her, telling her all his dirty secrets, for someone he used to love and hated as much as he hated himself now. He feels sick.

         “Zuko... I know you loved him. And... Maybe, at one point, he loved you too, but you have to know that you didn’t do anything wrong. None of this is your fault.”

         “Not my fault? Not my fault?! Was it not my fault when I didn’t want him to touch me anymore, and I still let him? Was it not my fault that I let him _fuck_ me, and never once opened my mouth to say no?”

         “No, it wasn’t,” she answers calmly. “You were confused. He was someone you loved, that you trusted, and you didn’t want to believe that he could take advantage of that, that he could abuse that trust. I get that Jet’s life was fucked up, Zuko -- I do -- but that’s not an excuse. If anything, he should have never wanted to hurt anyone the way he was hurt, but instead he turned around and hurt the person who loved him the _most_ in the _worst_ way.”

         “Why are you doing this?” Zuko whispers. His father would be ashamed of him, crying like a little girl in the kitchen, for letting Jet fuck him, and fuck him up. He doesn’t understand how Katara can’t see that this is his own fault.

         “Zuko, I’m not – I’m not trying to hurt you,” she says softly. The wall is cold against Zuko’s back, and he isn’t sure when he backed up so far that he’d hit it. He hates the hurt in her eyes when she reaches out to touch his face and he flinches. He hates putting the burden of knowing just how bad things had been, how bad they could be on her. “I just want to help.” Her voice cracks, and when he looks at her she is openly crying. “Please, just let me help you, ok?”

         He wants to say _yes, please, help me_ but his body betrays him again, and he’s shaking his head no. “You can’t help me,” he says, stomach rolling and fighting so hard to just keep it in check. He doesn’t need to be any weaker in front of her than he already is.

         “But I can, Zuko,” she says. She got so close without him even realizing and her touch, so soft and so gentle, fingers curling around his wrist, has him shaking worse than before. “You just have to let me.”

         There is so much – too much – going on in his head. Part of him was screaming to get away from her, get as far away as he could before he ruined her, and part of him… Part of him was begging to just let her help, let anyone help, because he couldn’t live like this anymore. It’s when her fingers brush the scar on the inside of his elbow that his resolve breaks. His father dislocated it 4 years ago, but Jet – Jet broke it less than a week later, his first real, true act of violence toward Zuko.   But Zuko was so desperate to be loved that he agreed it was an accident, and that the bone sticking out of his skin was nothing more than horseplay gone out of control. It was the first lie of many, and maybe the exact moment Jet began to change.

         And now, Zuko can’t breathe. He can feel his body shaking, and he just can’t hold his own weight anymore. Katara is talking to him as he slides down the wall, until his butt hits the floor less than gently and he jams his own knee into his chin. The taste of blood in his mouth makes his stomach clench involuntarily – he just bit his tongue this time, but there were so many other times when it was so much more. Katara’s hands are cool on his face and there is sweat sliding down his neck. He thinks she’s saying his name, but the ringing in his ears is so loud he can’t hear anything else. The world shifts sideways and Katara’s voice sounds tinny and distant, but a little shriller than before. The kitchen floor is cold against his unscarred cheek when he closes his eyes.


End file.
